by Augusta R. Mennell

Many international and American students who attend Slippery Rock University in Slippery Rock, Penn., come through the doors of All Saints Lutheran Church and Student Center. Most do not know who Jesus is.

This story of friendship began at Lowe’s Home Improvement store. As my husband and I were walking past the fragrant gardenias in the flower section, I heard a familiar voice. It was Crystal. She had been baptized at All Saints soon after she arrived from her homeland years ago. When she saw me, she broke into a huge smile, exclaiming how helpful All Saints had been in those early days when she barely understood English and had felt so helpless. She warmly introduced me to two friends.

I invited them all to attend the All Saints Fellowship campus ministry meal and movie the following evening. They were delighted with the invitation and came the next night. They all enjoyed a home-cooked meal, conversation with students and the warm feeling of welcome. Before the students left the meal and movie that night, we invited everyone to the Sunday morning worship.

The next morning Crystal, her mother and her friends were all in church. This gave us another opportunity to show friendship. Members helped them follow the service. They were taken forward to the Communion rail for a blessing. They understood, because someone had explained it, that Baptism and faith precede Communion. They experienced friendship at All Saints Lutheran Church.

God really is a great God. He opens hearts in ways I never dared to hope for. First, these two visitors came to three worship services, and in each and every service, the sermon topic and hymns were perfect for them as the pastor spoke from John about who Jesus says He is. In another service, a baby was baptized and our friends got to witness the power and beauty of Baptism.

Can you be a friend? Yes, you can! We Christians are good at friendship. God will do the rest.

by Carolyn Bolz

"Would you mind changing seats so that my wife can sit by me?" the airline passenger next to me asked. "There's another seat that you can have instead."

"Is it an aisle seat?" I asked.

"No, it's in the middle," he explained.
 
Inwardly, I groaned. I had specifically requested an aisle seat on this flight. For some unexplainable reason though, I felt that I should agree to the man's request.

After I was settled into my new seat, I smiled at the two women on either side of me. The passenger on my left continued to read her book but the sad-looking elderly lady to my right seemed to want to tell me something.

"Are you meeting your family in Denver?" I asked as the plane began its ascent.

"No, I . . ." the woman faltered. "Sorry. I don't speak English."

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"Mexico," she replied.

"Usted es de Mexico? Yo hablo espanol."

The worry lines in the woman's face faded as I explained that I was a bilingual teacher and spoke with her in Spanish.

"Me llamo Olga," my new friend replied with a smile. "And what is your name?" she asked in Spanish.

Olga shared how she was going to see her daughter and son-in-law. Her son-in-law was hospitalized in critical condition and not expected to survive.

I listened carefully and promised that I would pray for Olga and her family. I also told her that the Bible assures us that God cares about everything that happens in our lives. When the plane touched down, my seatmate and I said our goodbyes. "Que Dios te bendiga," I told her.

"And God bless you, Carolyn," she replied in Spanish, kissing me on the cheek. "Gracias por todo."

I checked my computer printout for my seat assignment for the next leg of my trip. I had requested an aisle seat on this one too, but perhaps I would end up sitting in the middle again. Maybe there would be a passenger on this flight who--like Olga--would need a listening ear and the assurance of God's care.

by Michael Biolchini

The recent spring storm had provided the potential for an abundance of firewood for next winter. So much so that perhaps there would at least be enough for part of another winter. This downed wood was truly a gift, an answer to many prayers as a certain man's family had experienced a shortage of that comfort during the last winter. Utility bills were high, the economy low.

It had already been a long day occupied by other work. It was early evening as the man faced laboring into the night falling and bucking damaged trees. As he cleaned up, he gave thanks to the Lord for the blessing the warmth created from this effort would be and for all our Lord provides in every season.

Approximately half a cord of wood was ready to be stacked. The sun had set over an hour ago. It was dark. The dangers of working under these conditions had become apparent. His wife would be worried. Again he prayed, “Lord, thank You for Your bounty.”

Tripping on unseen obstacles was a minor concern. He decided to leave his labors for hauling the next day even though he knew that someone might take what would be made tempting in morning light before he would be able to return. He offered thanks again, but this time he was moved to add, “Lord, if there is another more needy, he is welcome to Your provisions.”
At the first opportunity of the following dawn, the man returned. The bucked wood was gone.

I want to live. I want to watch our sons’ lives unfold and walk along the lake, holding my husband’s hand. I want to sit in the sunshine and drink peach iced tea and watch the flowers bloom. I want to be there for our sons, like my parents were there for me. There is so much left that I would like to do; yet, every day it gets harder to survive.

A walk across the room leaves me breathless. Taking a shower or just getting dressed is a major effort. When I pray, “If I should die before I wake,” I 

mean those words in a literal sense. It is terrifying to gasp for air and not know if there will be enough just to get out of bed. Dear Jesus, this is not how I would have chosen to die. Yet, Your words, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10 ESV) and “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9) comfort me. I know You are Lord over life, death, and disease, and You know what is best for me.

Since this disease (Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis) was diagnosed almost 2-1/2 years ago, little by little I have felt my body being whittled down to the “essence of me.” My livelihood, my hobbies, my independence—all have been taken. I feel impotent. The question I asked as the transplant word first surfaced in the doctor’s office was, “Where is God leading me?” My husband’s answer: “Just follow.” And I have been trying.

Through all of the biopsies, blood work, MRIs, Jesus has been with me. Through it all, I did what I was told. But my health continues to decline. It has been a test of faith, and right now that faith is feeling frazzled. Oxygen has increased from a little canister to a bigger canister to using a machine 24 hours a day, seven days a week. At times, I feel sorry for myself. I want to zip out of this body and be my old self again.

Through this all, though, the Lord has been with me. When I have felt abandoned, He has answered my prayers through cards, calls, and visits from family and friends. When I have had sleepless nights, He has given me “the peace that passes all understanding.” I can actually feel when people are praying for me.

In my 58 years of life, I have had many blessings. I was raised in a Christian home. I am thankful for my husband and feel privileged to be the mother of Peter, Matthew, and Joshua. I am grateful for my 20 years as a teacher.

While I want to be on earth with my family, I yearn also for that heavenly mansion Jesus has prepared for me. I look forward to being reunited with relatives who went before me. My time to see Jesus face-to-face seems to be drawing nearer, and I want people whose lives have touched mine to be with me in heaven. That seems to be summed up in the words of the familiar Christmas hymn: “Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask Thee to stay close by me forever and love me, I pray. Bless all the dear children in Thy tender care, and take us to heaven to live with Thee there.”

Lord Jesus, please be with us as we live, dream, and pray for Your guidance through the trials we face. None of us is guaranteed another tomorrow. We all have to be ready to face our Savior today.

---

About the Author: Nancy Callies, a retired Christian day-school teacher, pastor’s wife, and mother of three grown sons, is a member of Hope Lutheran Church, Fond Du Lac, Wis. she was blessed with a single lung transplant a month after this article was composed.

As I sat in church, surrounded by the wonderful sounds of the Service of Matins, I looked for a way to dispose of my chewing gum. I remembered the little slips of bright green prayer-request paper in each pew, and I grabbed one.

I know this is an improper use of the little slips, and I immediately had the feeling God was reminding me of their proper use when I noticed some writing on the slip I had grabbed. Instead of making its way into the offering basket and to the altar, this neglected slip found itself back where it began, in the pew. Yet the prayer request it held, though simple, speaks volumes for our world today.

In a wonderful script typical of youngsters just learning to write, on the line for “Name of Individual or Happening to Be Prayed For” was scrawled “people in the dump,” with the last word running up the side of the paper.

It gets better. There was another section on the slip, “Specific Prayer Request(s) for the Above-Listed Name.” The young person dutifully continued the supplication with this: “Please help the people in the dump find jobs and food.”

The profound nature of this simple statement was not lost on me. Yes, I used another prayer-request slip for my flavor-depleted chewing gum. However, my thoughts remained with the words scrawled on the first slip: “Please help the people in the dump find jobs and food.”

I am certain the child must have heard a parent or other significant adult say something about being “down in the dumps,” a phrase we use when things aren’t going well for us.

What warmed my heart most was the apparent understanding and confidence of this child. That the child wrote this small prayer request speaks volumes, really. For me, it evidences a confidence in the power of prayer, the childlike faith St. Matthew writes about: “He called a little child and had him stand among them. And He said: ‘I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven’” (18:2–4 NIV).

It is important to remember that there is a difference between being childish and humbling oneself like a child, which Jesus calls us to do. A childlike faith is unceasing in times of trouble, unconditional in love, and abounding in praise. A childlike faith is a face lit up while singing “Jesus Loves Me” as loud as possible in the front of the church, while also sneaking a wave and a smile to mom and dad. A childlike faith is unshakeable.

Those of us no longer considered childlike by outward appearances can learn a thing or two about a childlike faith from that prayer request for the “people in the dump.” Although we are to continually strive for whatever earthly understanding we may attain about the complexities of our faith and knowledge of God, we can still remain unceasing and unmoving in the simplicity of a childlike faith as children of God.

Let us then pray for the “people in the dump,” because there are many now, whether they are members of our family, fellow church members, our neighbors, or people in this nation or around the world. Our economic difficulties fell on the prayerful mind of a child, and as we pray for those in our world in need, we remember the unwavering confidence of a child in the strength, power, and mercy of our God, and the comfort, peace, and joy He offers in all circumstances.

Adam Hengeveld

“Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”

These words from the Book of Psalms have been spoken and sung frequently, especially after they were put to music by Amy Grant.

I was curious as to why my husband chose these particular words for our devotion the night after he came home from a stay in the hospital. Afflicted with Huntington’s Disease, my husband often doesn’t have much to say about things. However, he knew that I was seldom at a loss for words, so after he read the verse, he dropped it there for me to play with.

“Well,” I said, “I’ve sung that verse a number of times, but I still don’t have it memorized. I can never remember whether the lamp is for my feet or for the path. And I’m never sure which comes first—my feet or the path. And why do I need both a lamp and a light? Aren’t they the same thing?”

I never did learn why my husband chose that scriptural passage, but I was glad he did, for not only do I now have it memorized correctly, but it has afforded me interesting food for thought. As a matter of fact, I have come to the conclusion that, for me, this is one of the most beautifully poetic passages in the Bible.

The first picture that came to my mind was of a path—like something from a Thomas Kinkade painting—shrouded in shadows with a muted light coming from the distance to show the way. It made me think of the walk I had taken a couple weeks before. The mid-August days were growing shorter. Nevertheless, I delayed setting out until after 9:30, hoping that the burning heat of the summer day would have dissipated. As I turned the corner heading away from our house, I realized that it was really a very dark night. As a matter of fact, when I looked down, I could barely see my white tennis shoes, let alone the sidewalk. However, I was just going around the block and knew the way well. Our neighborhood is pretty safe, so I wasn’t afraid.

However, when I reached the other side of the block, everything was very dark, and no moon was visible. All I could see were a few porch lights shining in the distance. I felt kind of excited at being all by myself on such a dark path. It’s true, I did feel a smidgen of guilt at forgetting to take my cell phone just in case something happened. Over here, everyone in the neighborhood seemed to be in bed, just like my husband, so if something were to happen to me, help would be a long time in coming.

I decided it was best to keep my stride, and so I walked on confidently at a fast clip. I could sense the sidewalk and really didn’t need light. I knew right where I was by the feel of things. I would be fine if I kept my eyes on the lights in the distance. But then . . . suddenly my toe caught on an uneven piece of sidewalk. I realized in that instant that I was going to go down with my full weight, for I reeled forward and could not correct my balance. Not wanting to come up all scraped and bleeding, or risk breaking some bones, I dove toward the drought-hardened lawn beside the sidewalk, hoping that the grass would cushion my fall. I landed hard with the wind totally knocked out of me. After a few moments, I summoned the courage to check my knees. I couldn’t feel any wetness of blood, and although I felt stiff, nothing seemed broken. I limped home, still pretty shaken, and found my husband sleeping peacefully. I thanked God for protecting me and realized afresh that, indeed, there are angels watching over me.

The next day, I checked where I had gone down and discovered that there was a large decorative boulder on the lawn next door to the one where I had fallen. Had I hit that full force, I would have had a severe head injury and probably few teeth left. However, all I had to show for my little mishap was a nasty bruise on my hip.

I surely could have used a lamp for my feet on that night. Even though there were lights in the distance to keep me on the path, I couldn’t see my feet in the dark, let alone any uneven spots or debris on the sidewalk. That’s sort of how I walk through life. I know where the path is, but because I am gawking at the scenery or because it’s too dark where I look down, I sometimes don’t see the pitfalls until it’s too late.

Now I understand why God’s Word is both a lamp and a light. It’s not redundant after all. The light of God’s Word shines to illumine the path to heaven and keeps me going in the right direction. However, I also need something to shine by my feet to keep me from falling. As a lamp unto my feet, God’s Word highlights and warns me of immediate danger spots in my life.

How I love the light of the Gospel that draws me toward heaven, just as I love the muted light in a Thomas Kinkade painting. But I need the lamp of the Law to shine at my feet, helping me avoid mishaps and injury as I walk along the path of my life. Like a moth, I tend to flit along the path of life drawn by the promise of the Word of God and the presence of my Savior shining at the end of my path. But it is the lamp of His Word and His daily presence in my life through Holy Baptism that keep me from getting badly bruised or severely injured on the way there. The lamp and the light of His Word keep me safe, both for now and for eternity.

About the Author: Beverly Fabricius is a member of Calvary Lutheran Church, Indianapolis, Ind.

Six years ago I was in my 10th year of teaching English at a public middle school. I was a tenured teacher with a lot of responsibilities. I sponsored the school newspaper, coached track, and directed the annual play. I also held the position of department chair. English teacher was my vocation and my identity, and I envisioned a healthy, lifetime career in education with the goal of a secure retirement.

However, in January 2004, I became ill. I was diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and major depression. The symptoms of these illnesses consumed and incapacitated me, and I became so sick that I had to take medication and receive help from a doctor. And the OCD and depression didn’t go completely away with these treatments. In fact, even now in 2010, I am still struggling to be well. Because of this struggle, I have not yet returned to teaching, and due to the deprecating nature of depression, I have been left to wonder: If I am not a teacher, then who am I? I have even questioned the purpose of my earthly existence, sadly disregarding God and pondering, “Why do I live if only to die?”

My pastor faithfully addressed these questions when I went to him for counsel, but it wasn’t until a visit to church on a Sunday early in February that an answer to my questions became clear to me. During worship, I listened intently to the Scripture readings, the sermon, and the closing hymn. In the Old Testament lesson for the day, the Lord asks Isaiah, “Whom shall I send?” and Isaiah responds, “Hear am I. Send me” (Is. 6:8 NIV). Similarly, in the Gospel lesson, Jesus tells Simon Peter, a fisherman by earthly trade, that he will become a fisher of men, taking on a new spiritual trade (Luke 5:1–11). Both Isaiah and Peter are called to be dedicated, practicing servants of the Lord and stewards of His Word. Theirs is a high calling—but so is mine and yours. Stanza 1 of Hymn 853 in our Lutheran Service Book offers this wonderful insight:

How clear is our vocation, Lord,
When once we heed Your call:
To live acording to Your Word
And daily learn, refreshed, restored,
That You are Lord of all
And will not let us fall.

For me, the key to this stanza is the last line: “And will not let us fall.” When in a bout of depression and a cycle of OCD, my university education does not help me. My teaching skills do not help. All the earthly wisdom I have gained over the years does not help. However, the promises of my Baptism do. In Baptism, I am a child of God, and as His child, I am called to serve Him. In so doing, “[He] will not let [me] fall.” He brings new meaning and reason for living by taking away sin and death. Like the apostle Paul proclaims, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21).

When I get into the rut of identifying myself solely as a teacher, I am left without direction and purpose when depression and OCD incapacitate me. But when identifying myself as a child of God, these illnesses have no power over me, for I know I am guaranteed an everlasting retirement in heaven.

Deborah J. Alig, Roanoke, Ill.

“How Clear Is My Vocation, Lord,” stanza 1—text: Fred Pratt Green (1903–2000), Copyright © 1982, Hope Publishing Company, Carol Stream, IL 60188. All rights reserved. Used by permission.